[i]
Waking up at 11:17 a.m.
Plums. Orange Juice.
All day shift at China Wok.
Thank God for the wind and clouds that cool this air and
block the menacing heat of the sun.
Coconut Water is my best friend.
A slow afternoon for deliveries. I’m left to myself at least
for an hour or so to run some errands and eat lunch.
Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey
Green Tea.
I bought a new tape adaptor from Target. While riding around
delivering I crank up some nostalgic Coldplay on the stereo. I feel empowered,
especially after last night’s pick-me-up. Oh yes, my ego and my center is at
it’s strongest...rejuvenated...revived. Now that the distracting sexual desires
are quenched it’s possible I may be able to meditate on productive things.
Chocolate.
The day turns into night. It’s fairly slow but still steady
and the tips are generally good.
Finally off work. I had been in touch with Aysena and
suggested to hang out for a bit tonight. I pick her up at 25th and
Baltic. Arrive at the house. Darren and Kevin accompany the conversation
downstairs.
Tofu with Broccoli, Snow Peas, Onions, and Rice in Garlic
Sauce.
I hand over my fortune cookie to Ays, “Here you can have my
fortune. I’m all fortuned out.”
She cracks it open.
Me: “What does it say?”
She hands it over. I read it aloud, “Love is the first
feeling people feel, because love is nice.” I explode into silly laughter
before I even finish. “Oh my gosh! That is the most cheesiest fortune I’ve ever
read. I don’t even think that’s an actual quote.”
...
Darren and Kevin retire to their rooms. Ays and I go for a
night walk. The rain taps lightly on the ground so we bring an umbrella.
Smoking a clove and traversing the Chanticleer neighborhood. Small talk –
getting a glimpse behind our masks.
In her thick Russian accent she says, “You Americans so
open. You could say all about you.”
Me: “I’m like that. I’m very open.”
...
Me: “Do you...do you like me?”
She giggles in reaction.
Me: “Did I ask the wrong question? I like you.”
Her: “Yeah I know.”
Me: “How do you know?”
Her: “I feel it.”
Me: “Yeah you feel? Sometimes you can feel these things.
It’s unspoken. You know what I mean?”
Her: “Speechless?”
Me: “These things that you feel are unspoken.”
...
Back inside. In my room. Sifting through some of my favorite
reads on the bookshelf – quoting some Keroauc lines – entertained by a vintage
book called Brush Up Your Russian – she helps me learn a few Russian
phrases. We sit on the floor. I admire her long black hair, verbally. She keeps
saying how shy she is most of the time. I examine the one tattoo she has on her
left arm, an image of a dream catcher with a snake coiled inside. She’s a
dreamer and she’s protected.
...
It’s getting late so I drive her back to 25th.
Walking up the sidewalk in a slow lingering fashion. Spider’s webs hung from
the trees blocking our movement. Hug exchange by the No Parking sign. I slip my
face into her neck and smell, and then sneak a kiss on the cheek. She returns
her lips into mine and it’s not just a mere peck, but a generous lather of
mouth goodness. I had no expectation or plan for this, nor did I expect a lack
of inhibition on her part.
Her: “Bye bye.”
Me: “Bye. I’ll see you later.”
I walk away soaking all that in. I might feel a little
overloaded considering the events from the previous night. It seems too close
together. It’s a strange feeling. But what can I do...but be a sensationalist
and revere these life experiences by themselves.
...
I hop back in the car and notice my phone lighting up
repetitively with calls from Margot. Really? This isn’t happening. And
of course only at desperate emotional hours. I can’t answer. I just can’t. Too
close together. This is a strain on my sanity and composure. But Margot’s
behavior is all too predictable: just one instance of denial or absence and she
becomes a persistent little bugger. There’s no doubt she’s in my neighborhood
or at my house already. I safely park in another court and step inside my house
without giving away my location. There are multiple voicemails.
I decide to call back and make up a story about how I had to
drop my car off at the shop and walk all the way back...as well I left my phone
at home. She doesn’t buy it at first because apparently she spotted my car on
the road. I start doing the dishes and there she is in the doorway of the
kitchen. She had a stressful night. Who else could she run to? None other than
I, the one whom she knows gives more than two shits about her. I try to be
casual and comical to help alleviate the tense mood.
...
Upstairs, in my room.
Me: “Why did you call me in the first place?”
Her: “I called Chanello’s and they said no so I called you.”
I laugh in response, “What? You called Chanello’s and they
said no so you called me?”
Her: “Yes!”
Me: “You’re ridiculous.”
Obviously, there’s more to that story. But the only way the
night will end smoothly is by allowing her to spend the night. Otherwise she’d
be furiously rejected. I’m way too nice. So here I am lying next to a
beautiful familiar rose but thinking about a beautiful unfamiliar lotus. Also,
the night before...ugh. Too close together. I said this already. Go to
sleep, Robert.
[i] Ashkan
Honarvar.
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